


We Walking on a Line

by dontcallmebree



Series: Do The Things You Never Showed Nobody [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Mob, Bearded Steve Rogers, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mob Boss Steve Rogers, Modern Bucky Barnes, Personal Assistant Bucky Barnes, Shrunkyclunks, but still entirely fluffy, sorta Slice of Life or timestamps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:54:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27891859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontcallmebree/pseuds/dontcallmebree
Summary: As Brooklyn enters December, snow continues to fall, covering the streets in heaps of pristine white. It’s been shaping up to be the perfect holiday season.It takes a hit in the middle of breakfast.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Do The Things You Never Showed Nobody [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022916
Comments: 26
Kudos: 193





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> it’s that time of year. (how did we hurtle into december already?)

Four is all it takes. 

As Brooklyn enters December, snow continues to fall, covering the streets in heaps of pristine white. Bucky and Steve spend their nights bundled up on the couch and drinking a hot beverage or two, or warming up in other more athletic ways when they have the place to themselves. 

It’s been shaping up to be the perfect holiday season. The Barneses are expected to spend Hanukkah with them as they have the past two years, and Maia is even planning to visit so Rhea can have Christmas with her family. The latter may be because both Steve and Rita threatened to drag her home themselves if she doesn’t fly in from San Francisco by the 24th.

All in all, Bucky’s spirits have been steadily buoyed in the past few weeks. 

It takes a hit in the middle of breakfast when Steve’s Avengers alarm goes off in the closet. In two minutes, he’s dressed and on the bike, leaving Bucky in a flurry with a quick calming kiss goodbye.

Bucky’s got a routine down at this point. He goes to the house to spend time with whoever’s around, usually Sam and the guys, to fill his day with warm reassurance until Steve comes back. 

He gets a call from Pepper 13 hours in. 

Steve is injured on the fourth mission Bucky sees him off to.

◆

Bucky doesn’t know when he got in the car. Pepper’s voice is still ringing in his ears, even as he wonders how he got in the passenger seat and somehow already making his way into midtown. 

Sam’s driving on his left, face calm and arms operating the vehicle in precise methodic movements. Did he ask Sam to give him a ride? Where are they even heading? “Sam?” His voice comes out as a whisper. Is he having a panic attack?

A paper bag is shoved into his hands, and he instinctively breathes into it. As a tunnel of sound starts to penetrate the dull buzz of silence, the bag abruptly turns suffocating, and he rips it away to gasp warm car air into his lungs. 

“-ucky? Come on, you’re okay, just breathe.” Bucky turns to find Sam’s outstretched hand, and grasps it without question. He can feel gun calluses against his own tender smooth palm. 

“You-” He regulates his inhales to a rhythm Sam’s counting out for him in a low, unchanging tone. “You shoot people,” he breathes out. 

Sam doesn’t react to his rather out of left field announcement, and sweeps his fingers across Bucky’s knuckles in time with the expanding of their chests. “You back with me?”

Bucky looks around, at dark sedans turning at the intersection, skyscrapers reaching up into the clouds, and pedestrians jaywalking across the street. “I don’t know.” Is that Stark Tower? “I don’t kn- Where are we going?” He lets go of Sam’s hand so he can drive properly.

“Stark Tower, they have a medical wing.” Bucky closes his eyes, trying to piece himself back together. 

When they pull up to the lobby of what must be the medical wing, Sam doesn’t offer empty reassurances aside from his steady presence. Bucky appreciates that, and can only hope that his own companionship is a fraction as comforting. He doubts it is.

The fresh air is cold and biting, but it clears his head and grounds him to the present. They meet Scott by the entrance, looking tired and haggard but in one piece. “How did the mission go?” Scott looks affronted by Sam’s question. “Steve will care about the mission,” he says coldly. “How did it go?”

“It ended well.” Scott seems to find Sam’s steely demeanor intimidating instead of reassuring, which Bucky can’t understand but, hey, to each his own. 

They walk across the mostly empty lobby, and through corridors with warm wood paneled walls. “Steve’s in surgery.” He glances at Bucky, who’s starting to feel blood rush back into his cheeks. “He has a shattered tibia, and a partially shattered femur. Four broken ribs and a punctured lung. And his spine is fractured.”

“His- His spine?” Bucky chokes out.

Scott keep his eyes down, following the faint tracks on the floor. “The doctors say there won’t be permanent damage. Nothing critical-”

“ _Nothing critical_?” Bucky hisses. “His _fucking spine-_ His _lung_ -” 

“I know,” Scott stops by a wide set of doors. “I don’t know how they can say that.”

Sam grabs his shoulder, clasping it tightly. “You good?” Bucks nods. He _is_ good, all things considered. Inside is what looks like a regularly used section of the facility. A large nurse’s station is tucked in the corner, and couches and low tables dominate the room. Various doors and corridors lead away from the area, and medical personnel shuffle through as they go about their routines. 

Everyone on the team is scattered throughout. Pepper gets up from the couch as soon as she sees them, making her way over. “Steve’s in surgery,” she glances at Scott. “Has Scott-”

“Yeah,” Bucky tells her in a voice much more steady than he is. “He told me.” 

Pepper purses her lips, then turns her attention to Sam. “We must have talked on the phone. You’re Steve’s emergency contact?” Sam nods curtly, exchanging a handshake and running his eyes over the group of people who have started to congregate at their entrance. 

“How many more hours?” Bucky asks, shifting on his feet.

Tony is solemn, moving stiffly. He can see some of his limbs covered in bandages. “Give or take eight.” Bucky looks at Sam, and they go to sit on a free couch in unison. Scott follows soon after, falling onto a nearby armchair. “Did I call anyone?” Bucky asks, still having no recollection of the stretch of time after his phone rang.

A couple people nearby seem to awkwardly look around, as if checking to see who Bucky’s talking to, before Sam speaks up. “No.” He leans against the backrest, turning his head to face Bucky. “I had Clara tell Ri-,” he stops himself. “That was pretty much it.”

Bucky counts the scratches on the ceiling, and wonders what could have caused those. “I should tell Becs.” Sam hands over Bucky’s phone, which he doesn’t remember giving up. Oh, well. He texts Becca a quick message. 

Bruce approaches in the corner of his eye, and he looks up to the kind faced man. “Maybe you should wait upstairs in the lounge, it’s going to be a while before Steve comes out of surgery.” Bucky doesn’t say anything for a while, and Bruce chooses to try his luck with Sam. “I’m Bruce,” he holds out a hand, and Sam shakes it with a polite nod. He doesn’t offer up a name. 

It suddenly occurs to him that it might not be okay for Sam to be here. Then he remembers that Steve used to invite him as his plus one to Avengers events all the time - not that the guy ever went - and according to Pepper, is Steve’s emergency contact. 

“Will you be waiting here all day?” Bruce tries again, gentle and considerate.

Bucky’s phone rings with Becca’s name flashing on the screen. “We’re fine.” Next to him, Sam settles further into the cushions as if making a point.

◆

He and Sam stay in what he’s gathered must be the waiting room for what feels like a whole day. They leave to go to the bathroom and take private calls, but otherwise stick to laying on the couch or pacing between tables. Scott is around most of the time, occasionally getting them food and drinks, and plenty of coffee because Sam drinks caffeine _like a normal human being_. Ugh, it isn’t even fun anymore to tease Steve in his head when the guy’s not around. 

“How the fuck?” Clint gapes, as Sam reveals a straight flush and takes the pot. They’ve been playing poker for the past half hour, and Sam is cleaning house. He’s taken almost a grand from Clint, but only a couple hundred from Scott and Bucky because they keep folding. 

Tony saunters in, clad in sweatpants and carrying fresh cups of coffee. They napped not too long ago, but the fuel is always appreciated. He whistles at the sight of Sam’s collection of wrinkled bills. “Texas Hold ‘Em?” He distributes the drinks and Clint pouts when he’s left empty handed. Scott easily rectifies it by handing over his own.

“Cash in,” Sam kicks the chair across from him for Tony, and the man obediently pulls out his wallet. 

Various Avengers have been making their way downstairs, presumably to keep them company and keep tabs on Steve’s progress. Bucky supposes it’s nice of them. He’d show more gratitude if he wasn’t preoccupied with crippling worry for his boyfriend.

Tony drops all his cash on the table, and Bucky offers to tap out for the round and deal. “You know, I practically lived in casinos before Pepper straightened me out,” he brings up. Sam keeps his silence and peeks at his hand. “Who am I kidding? Of course you know. That shit was all over the tabloids.”

Sam has an incredible poker face, which, when Bucky thinks about it, must come with the job. He knows he’s crafted a pretty good one himself over time, and Steve’s is impeccable.

Sam places a bet, and everyone else calls. After another community card is revealed, the bets start escalating and Scott and Clint fold quickly. “Nu-uh, I’m not losing anymore money to you,” Clint declares, selectively ignoring the amount he’s already lost before giving up his hand.

Sam keeps raising, and Bucky honestly can’t tell if Tony’s being goaded or if he just doesn’t care about losing so much. The game ends as he expected, with Sam pocketing a thick wad of cash. 

“Well, I guess that was fun,” Tony claps his hands once as he watches Bucky gather and shuffle the cards. He expects them to move on, but Tony pastes on a bright smile, pulling out _more_ money from his other pocket. Do rich guys stuff all their clothes with hundred dollar bills? Is this a thing Bucky didn’t know about? _Steve_ doesn’t do that.

Sam takes it in stride and gets his handful ready, even as he says, “This ain’t Vegas, Stark, there’s no house to beat.”

Tony shrugs, dragging Bucky’s eye to a hole in the left shoulder of his t-shirt. “No, but there’s you.” Sam’s smile is small and muted, but he still looks like a shark tasting blood in the water.

Clint and Scott sigh theatrically, despite giving in and joining the table. They end up playing for the next few hours, and somehow, one by one, the rest of the team make their way down to check on the situation, only to stick around and watch the game. 

Natasha and Pepper end up taking part, but Bruce is content to stay on the sidelines. Tony wins a couple hands, Pepper a few more than him, and Sam remains the heavyweight. By the time everyone’s energy is flagging, they all have a few measly dollars to Sam’s almost comical stack. 

Bucky watches him smooth out each and every single bill, before slipping them into the inside of his jacket. They exchange a look, devoid of any meaning, but amused nonetheless. Who knew the one thing that would cheer him up and keep him sane throughout this whole ordeal is watching Sam kill at gambling?

“That has _got_ to be a statistical anomaly,” Natasha narrows her eyes. “No one can win that many times in a row.” Sam flashes an innocent grin, elbows resting on his knees. 

Bucky nudges him, asking, “Smoke?” Sam barely ever indulges, and Bucky sure doesn’t, but he nods and gets up. “Anyone have a pack handy?” Most people seem to be making semi disapproving faces, but Scott reaches into a grocery bag and pulls out Steve’s brand. 

“Figured you didn’t have time to grab some before coming over here,” he says, lobbing it over. Bucky smiles gratefully, even though he’s pretty sure Steve’s not going to be lighting up until he leaves the hospital. 

He and Sam go outside through an emergency exit door, and Bucky pulls out a cigarette just as a cover. The hint of the tobacco smell may also be settling him as it reminds him of Steve. “You doing okay?” Sam asks, not even bothering with the pretense.

“Yeah, I’m-,” he shakes his head, rolling the stick around between his fingers. “Thanks, for-,” he huffs out a breath, causing a mist in the cold air. “For keeping it together for the both of us, I guess.” He takes in Sam’s steady gaze, the steel in his eyes that’s remained all day. “He’s your best friend, too. I know you’re scared.”

“I am,” Sam admits without hesitation. He shifts closer, and they press against each other’s shoulders, leaning on the rough wall of the building. 

Bucky clears his throat, not able to stop himself from asking, “What happens if he, um. If he ever- What happens?” Sam looks out into the almost blinding sight of a snow covered street, blinking against the glare. He reaches over for the cigarette, and pinches it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Nothing.” Bucky can’t make any sense out of that answer, and furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “ _Things_ would happen, but there’s no line of succession or anything.” He looks over at Bucky, finding him at a loss for words. “Rita would still be around, and unless you two have a kid running around that I don’t know about, there’s no one automatically appointed as his successor.”

Bucky can’t decide how to feel about that. He knew, of course, that any passing of the baton would only be triggered if Rita was no longer able to lead, but he always figured there was _something_ in place for if Steve wasn’t going to be around too. He’s got no doubt that shit would go down, of course, as Sam implied.

They stay out in the cold long enough for their noses and ears to turn red, and until Scott pushes through the door with a hoarse, “Steve’s out of surgery.” 

◆

△

Steve is floating on one hell of a cocktail of drugs. It’s miles better than anything he dabbled with in his youth. 

He doesn’t realize that until later, once he comes down and reality sets in. Right now he’s enjoying the fragmented drifting, his body nothing but unmoored, disjointed mass. He roams aimlessly across the void for an indefinite amount of time, until once more growing eyelids. 

He revels in the sensation, feeling it out before peeking through them and finding a dark room on the other side. Two heaps of bodies are slumped together, and Steve can barely make sense of what he’s seeing, so he goes back to getting carried away to wander another plane of existence.

The next time he recognizes the need to resurface into the waking world, he can feel muscles shifting beneath paper thin skin, and the presence of his physical being. It’s a bizarre realization.

When he opens his eyes, blinding light attacks his irises and he involuntarily grunts in surprise. “Muh.”

Someone to his right makes a loud noise of surprise. “Shit, Sam, get a nurse or something!” He makes a second attempt to wake up, this time ready for the oncoming brightness. The man beside him is much closer, hands hovering in the air as if scared to touch. 

He recognizes Bucky after a slow, sluggish minute. “Bucky,” he mumbles, and suddenly registers the tightness in his chest. He tries taking long, deep breaths but something inside him isn’t cooperating. 

“Steve, it’s alright, don’t push yourself.” Bucky lays a gentle hand on his shoulder, careful to avoid thick, wide bandages. A couple people he thinks he recognizes come through the door, looking equal parts harried and relieved. Bucky spares them a glance before turning back to him. 

That’s good. He likes Bucky looking at him. Bucky shouldn’t be distracted. He can stay with Steve forever. “Bucky,” he has the sudden urgency to tell him exactly that, but his tongue has other ideas. “ _Sweetheart, Bucky, you look awful_.” Bucky’s wrinkling his forehead, making the bags under his eyes more pronounced against his pallid face. “ _Pretty. Still pretty._ ”

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Bucky looks distressed, but he can’t be that worried if Steve goes by the way the muscle under his jaw flexes when he huffs a laugh. There are kind fingers carefully carding through his hair, and he leans into the touch. “I don’t speak Irish Gaelic, Steve.” 

“Oh.” Steve lets his eyes close, even though he doesn’t want to leave Bucky for the pleasant abyss. “ _Why not?_ ” There are more sounds in his surroundings, and he fights the darkness pulling at him to see what’s going on. People in matching clothes are checking over a myriad of things in the room that he knows has to do with him, but he doesn’t know how. Is the machine that nurse is using an extension of his body?

Nurses - that’s who they must be. Nurses wear scrubs. He always thought the colorful patterned ones look cute. Maybe he can get some for himself. He turns back to ask Bucky if he can have at least a couple, and finds Sam by his side, looking just as exhausted but with a familiar beaming smile. 

“Sammy!” he clumsily reaches out with his hand, and overshoots by, well, _some_ metric of measurement.

Sam meets his hand in its wayward path and brings it back, with a chastising, “Whoa, I’m right here.” Steve hums happily and pulls their clasped palms up higher, tucking it under his cheek. He hears an amused, “You having fun over there?” before falling back into oblivion.

▽

◆

Steve has been hovering between hazy consciousness and being dead asleep for more than 24 hours. When he’s not knocked out, he tries to communicate with whoever’s at his bedside with middling success.

His vitals are stable, and he looks to be on track to recovery - at least that’s what they tell him. Awake, Steve looks content to mumble nonsense or cuddle with Sam, much to Bucky’s chagrin. But that’s alright, Bucky’s a fan of Sam’s hugs himself. 

It’s three times now out of the five instances that Steve’s woken up, where he ends the short spell with some part of Sam nestled into the hospital bed. The attending nurses are highly amused. Steve’s teammates take turns visiting, but the blonde doesn’t pay them any mind, choosing instead to fuss over Bucky. If only he can tell what’s got Steve all a fluster, but he can’t fucking understand the guy.

“He’s asleep?” Bruce pops his head through the door. 

Bucky sits up from the armchair he’s been slowly but surely becoming one with. His back is killing him but he’d rather stay than get a good night’s sleep. An overnight bag Sam swung by the house to grab is at his feet, so he’s at least in fresh clothes. “Yeah.”

“Still a bit delirious?” Bruce takes near silent steps towards the other side of Steve’s bed, eyes roaming over the IV he’s hooked up on. There must be a lethal dose of medication for regular adults in that drip. 

Bucky gives a strangled laugh, still gripped by worry even though logically he knows Steve’s getting better and is expected to heal completely. His spine is already mostly repaired. “A lot delirious.” He watches Bruce go over a medical chart at the end of the bed, and remembers he’s an actual doctor with an MD.

Bruce’s lips curve up the tiniest bit, no doubt recalling some of Steve’s antics that he’s caught wind of and witnessed himself on one visit. “Well, I’m sure he’ll-” 

He doesn’t get to say what he’s sure Steve will do, because the man chooses that moment to stir and wake up, with a sigh of, “Bucky.” He drags his chair closer to the bed, trying to exude as much calm as possible. Steve’s had trouble breathing every time he comes to, and while his lung is getting better by the day, it’s still visibly causing him pain and sometimes panic. 

“Sam’s just out getting food,” Bucky updates him on everything he can, as he’s been doing whenever Steve’s close to lucid. “You’ll get your cuddle buddy soon.” Steve’s reaching up to tug off the cannula, and Bucky quickly stops him. “Don’t do that, it’s helping you breathe, Steve.”

“You look read bad, honey,” Steve garbles out, giving up on circumventing Bucky’s protective hold on the tube and reaching out to his cheek, rubbing the soft skin near his eye. 

Bucky scoffs in offense, though mostly he’s over the moon that Steve’s back to speaking in a language he knows. “Is that what you’ve been going on and on about this whole time? Sam, you wanna feel up, but I’m an eyesore?” He can’t hold back the growing smile or the laugh of relief at being able to talk properly, instead of the one way communication they’ve been having. 

Steve lights up, eyes crinkling in delight. “Look at that, you know what I’m sayin’.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, tangling his fingers with the ones Steve’s got mapping the side of his face. He can hear Bruce step out, probably to give them some privacy and let the others know Steve’s fully awake. “I was so scared,” Bucky whispers, turning to kiss Steve’s palm. “You were-,” he swallows down the burgeoning sob, emotions he’s been carefully building a dam around washing over him at once. 

“Hey, no, honey- C’mere’,” Steve foolishly tries to sit up, grunting in pain and battling with a tangle of tubes and other medical equipment attached to his person. 

Bucky throws himself into keeping Steve in place, which evidently is easily accomplished by coming into hugging distance. “Stop moving, don’t be an idiot,” he chokes out between escaping sniffles. Steve melts at the often used insult, as he always does. To this day, Bucky still doesn’t know why he’s such a fan of it. 

“I’m sorry, Buck,” Steve wipes away a few fallen tears, looking distraught at the sight of them. “God, I’m so sorry, I made you-”

“No,” Bucky silences him with a chaste, closemouthed kiss, glad that he can fit their lips together again in a comforting embrace. “We’re not doing that. The only thing happening right now, is that you were injured, and I love you. And I’m sad you got hurt, okay?” 

Steve searches his eyes before giving a small nod, eyes still apologetic, but at least he’s listening. “Okay. I love you too.” Bucky softens, and presses his lips against Steve’s one more time, soft and pliant if a little chapped. 

“Fucking finally,” Sam comes in, lugging containers of food and cups of coffee. “Thought you were gonna take forever to get your head outta the clouds.” He sounds annoyed, but the ease in his features says otherwise. He’s practically radiating happiness at seeing Steve properly conscious. 

Sam gives him an uncharacteristically cautious hug, and Bucky can’t tell if Steve is touched by the care or peeved by it. When he pulls away, Steve teases, “What, not gonna let me hoard your warmth this time?”

Sam goes to smack him playfully, but pulls back at the last minute. “Nah, that was a limited offer.”

Steve laughs, the sound rough and painful. “Please, like you’re not a full time cuddler. I’ve got Riley backing me up.” 

The doctor and a couple nurses come in, greeting Steve as they do every time they find him awake. “It’s good to have you back, Captain,” the doctor says, standing at the foot of the bed. She tells Steve about his injuries, the expected path to recovery, including light physical therapy he can do at home.

“When can I go home?” is the first thing he asks. 

“You still need full-time care, and there’s medication you need to be on for another 24 hours.” Steve squirms restlessly, and while he’s still taking up most of the bed, Bucky thinks he almost looks small. Dr.Cho, he now remembers her name, goes through his laundry list of injuries again and how much rest Steve needs to get better.

“I can have full-time care at home,” Steve clenches his jaw, resolute. There’s something about this whole thing that’s making Steve tense up, another layer on top of his Captain Rogers veil.

“He can,” Sam chimes in. 

Dr. Cho looks between the two of them, heaving out a sigh. “Well, you need to be here for the IV and monitoring for the next 24 hours at least.”

“I’ll get ready to leave tomorrow,” Steve decides, radiating authority even in his current state. He takes a deep rattling breath, and gets out a short, “Thanks, doc.” Dr. Cho smiles warmly, probably used to all kinds of patients, even ones with extremely rapid healing rates who can get discharged within days after having half their body crushed.

Once she leaves, the Avengers start to trickle in, and this time Steve recognizes and engages with them just fine. Bucky texts Rita, the guys, and his sisters, to update them on Steve, and tunes back in to Pepper trying to convince Steve to stay at the Tower. “-in the same building as medical, there’ll be round the clock help if you need anything at all.” 

“That’s really sweet of you to offer, Pepper, but I’m okay, really,” Steve rebuffs her with a strained smile and eyes glazed over with unsettling impassivity. “I’ll have someone at home too.” 

“All the time?” Bruce asks, skeptical but not unkind. 

Bucky looks up to a group of apprehensive faces. Way too many of them, all well-meaning but misguided. “We _live_ together.” He’s a little surprised they didn’t know that. How did no one know that? 

Clint clears his throat, from where he’s perched by the window. “How about a nurse, Steve? I’m sure Bucky would appreciate the help.” 

Bucky can see how rigidly Steve’s holding himself, looking weary and uncomfortable. There are only minuscule tells like the set of his shoulders and the tightness around his eyes, but Sam must notice it too, because he grits out, “Back the fuck off. Steve can take care of himself. _I’ll_ be there to help them.” 

“We’re just concerned,” Natasha speaks up. “This is a serious injury and he needs-”

“What he _needs_ ,” Sam cuts in, “Is for you to trust that he can get the help that he requires himself. Steve’s a grown ass man. You asked him if he wanted your help and he said no. It’s pretty fucking clear what he _needs_ from where I’m standing.” Sam’s doing his best to be a friend to Steve, and he’s always clearly been protective, but Bucky sees Steve staring vacantly at the light blue sheets beneath his fingers and just wants everyone to stop talking about him like he’s not even in the room.

Tony scowls, throwing an arm out. “Okay, who the hell _is_ this guy? We don’t even know you!”

“I’m Steve’s friend,” Sam spits out, getting up from his seat. “You know what friends are? You ever had one of those?” He’s posturing like he’s about to make his point through less than civil means, and something more animated finally flashes in Steve’s eyes.

“ _Sam_ ,” Steve scolds, the scraping of his voice making it more of a growl.

Tony looks ready to retaliate, either verbally or physically, but Pepper lays a warning hand on his arm. She gives Sam a thorough once over, and Bucky wonders what she can pick out. What does she see? Every time Bucky thinks she’s got Pepper pinned down, he finds that he hasn’t quite gotten there yet. Or maybe it’s that Pepper’s always three steps ahead of him. 

Steve’s phone rings, cutting the tension. Bucky sees that it’s Rita and grabs it from the side table, promptly handing it over. He expected her to call as soon as she heard any news that isn’t _Steve’s muttering incomprehensibly between bouts of sleep_. She’s been beside herself with worry, but being Rita Ashe is a little too recognizable for her to show face at Stark Tower. 

Steve instantly looks cheered at the sight of his friend calling, immediately getting out, “I need the room,” without a second thought.

Bucky and Sam are quick to make their way out, used to private conversations, especially when it comes to Rita and Steve. Everyone else takes their time. A few give Steve’s phone the stink eye like it’s personally slighted them. Steve waits it out, phone ringing all the while. 

Bucky makes sure to close the door behind him, glad to hear some of the tension in Steve’s drained, raspy voice leak out as soon as he greets Rita.

◆

The second Steve’s been cleared and gets the rundown on his medication, they’re ready to pack up and leave. Antsy doesn’t begin to describe the man, even as he stays worryingly lethargic and detached throughout the day and night.

As the pink golden hue of the early morning came over them, neither having gotten a wink of sleep, Steve had defeatedly told Bucky, “I want to go home,” sounding much younger than his often larger than life character makes him seem. 

Bucky’s learned that Steve has no problem being vulnerable at times, but this is something else entirely. The discomfort Steve’s in has nothing to do with his injuries, though it’s clearly exacerbated by them. Bucky honestly can’t wait to get him home either. 

Leo and Sam come to pick them up in an SUV big enough for a newly purchased wheelchair in the back and a reclined passenger seat with an elevated footrest. Some nurses try to help Steve onto a fancy Stark designed wheelchair to get him out front, but he gets frustrated and snaps at them one too many times. 

Bucky and Sam take over, getting him situated with only some trouble and wheeling him out to the entrance. Steve gets worn out even just after that, but he does make the effort to thank everyone on shift. 

Once they get him moved once again into the car, Sam returns the Stark wheelchair and Steve keeps the door propped open so he can say goodbye to Tony, Pepper, and Bruce. “Thanks for everything, maybe I’ll see you when I come back to get this cast off.” He taps his knuckles onto the hard shell around his leg, a forced smile twisting his lips. 

“Take care, Steve,” Bruce helps close the door. 

Everyone slips into the car, including Scott, who’s claiming to hitch a ride to Brooklyn. The drive is silent, except for when Scott tries to broach the subject of their mission, telling Steve, “You did good out there.” 

Steve doesn’t seem to appreciate the attempt, if the quiet and commanding, “Shut up, just, shut up,” is anything to go by. It doesn’t get brought up again. 

Dani, Clara, and Rita are waiting for them when they arrive, and Leo and Scott say their well wishes at the doorstep to head over to the house. They all help him onto the wheelchair and into the bedroom, before Bucky takes over.

He helps Steve wash up and get into clean clothes, the man panting by the end of it. He’s visibly fed up by the whole ordeal, the blank, docile nature of the past couple days replaced by an irritability that’s only a hair less concerning. “Hey, it’s alright,” Bucky whispers into his temple, where they’re curled together on the bed. 

Steve grunts in acknowledgement, wiggling around as much as he can where he’s reclined on a high stack of pillows. “I hate this, makes me feel useless. Can’t even breathe right.” His fingers ghost over the tender area around his ribs, and up to his chest.

Bucky pushes himself upright to sternly look into Steve’s stormy blue eyes. “Your body is keeping you healthy and alive. People aren’t just supposed to be useful, Steve.” 

Steve looks chastened, eyes downcast, but still disgruntled. “Okay.”

Well, that’s better than nothing. “Did you see the kitchen earlier? Dani says everyone’s been sending all kinds of home cooked meals. There’s so much it can’t even fit in our industrial fridge.” Bucky gets a faltering smile in response. “I think people are trying to pay you back for feeding them every time you cook a mountain of food for the house.”

“They just know I eat a lot,” Steve mumbles, slumping further into the mattress. 

“Hmm, yeah,” Bucky allows, smoothing his hands up and down Steve’s arm. “And they care about you.” He doesn’t say anything to that.

Someone knocks on the bedroom door, and they hear Rita yell through the thick wood, “Maia’s about to call me, Steve!” Bucky gets up to let her in, and leaves those two to talk. He busies himself getting the kitchen cleared out as much as possible, mostly by helping Dani serve most of the food sitting out. He wasn’t lying when he said there’s so much that the industrial fridge ran out of space.

He settles on the couch with a casserole, ready to get some work done. Everyone else does the same, and they hunker down to eat through a month’s worth of meals and work out of Steve and Bucky’s living room for the foreseeable future - not that they don’t usually do that often enough.

Sam pokes him in the side, with a whisper of, “Bucky.” Bucky side eyes him, raising an eyebrow. “How was he in there?” Sam cocks his head towards the closed bedroom door.

“If you’re asking then I’m guessing you already know.” Bucky watches Sam’s face go through a myriad of emotions. 

He finally sighs, tiredly scrubbing at his face. “I’m gonna call Riley, have him come down here.” 

“You think that’ll help?” Bucky doesn’t doubt that talking to Riley would make Steve feel better, but he doesn’t know if having him come without warning will backfire on them. He’s sure the thought has occurred to Sam.

“Yeah, it’s best to just-,” he shrugs, pulling out his phone. Sam’s been keeping Riley in the loop on Steve’s well-being, so the request for help shouldn’t be that much of a shock. 

By the time Sam’s done talking to Riley, Rita’s opened the bedroom door and Bucky can hear Steve on the phone with Maia. He plates up some beef brisket and Steve’s favorite mashed potatoes, and brings it to bed. 

“Maia, she’s not gonna understand shi-,” Steve sighs, a fond eye roll coming through. “Hi Rhea, is your mom shoving a phone in your face? You wonderin’ what the hell’s going on?” Bucky smacks him on the arm, even as he holds back giggles. It’s nice to see Steve a little cheerful, and he can see that Rita’s glad to see it too. She shoots him a smile from where she’s perched at the end of the bed, one of their many knitted blankets across her lap. 

There’s some unintelligible babble coming out of the speaker, and Steve replies, “Uh-uh, I think your mom’s unhinged, too, baby girl.” 

Even from Steve’s other side, Bucky can hear Maia shriek, “You are on speaker phone, Steven!” Steve laughs, and it’s the most beautiful sound Bucky’s heard in days.

◆

Steve bounces between being miserable and quiet, and keyed up and short-tempered. He’s struggling to deal with not being able to do most things on his own, and not having the usual range of motion. It’s difficult to watch Steve become a shell of a person the way he was when still at medical.

There have been days of Steve withdrawing into himself, unresponsive to Bucky’s attempts to engage him in matters that don’t require any physical tasks. The inability to accomplish much of his regular daily activities seem to cripple him mentally, a post-injury effect that according to Riley is common enough. Bucky is unequipped for such a situation, only able to provide love and support. 

Riley comes into town just in time. He stays for a little under two weeks, most of it spent either hanging around at Steve and Bucky’s place as they work, or having closed door conversations with Steve himself. It’s a rough time, Steve looking more emotionally drained than ever. Bucky wishes there was something he could do to make him feel better. 

Steve gets angry at the most unpredictable things, from anyone trying to help him get around in his wheelchair, to people choosing to stick around so that whoever it is can be there to lend a hand. “I’m not an invalid,” Steve seethes as Bucky helps him settle in bed. 

“I know you’re not,” Bucky raises his own voice. Steve’s temper flare ups have been getting under his skin. “No one thinks you are.” 

“You don’t gotta wait on me hand and foot, I’m perfectly capable!” It’d be funny to watch Steve say that while he scoots around to find a more comfortable position if Bucky wasn’t getting pissed off in his own right. He’s only keeping it together because he knows that Steve’s more mad at himself right now than anyone else.

“Maybe you should let people help you every once in a while!” Bucky forcefully pushes the wheelchair over to the side of the room, letting it crash against the dresser. “You can’t _do everything_ yourself, _no one_ can do that.” He stomps into their ensuite, going through his routine before bed. 

Steve doesn’t say anything as he washes up, and the silence carries on as he gets changed and into bed. “It feels like my body is failing me,” Steve confesses into the semi darkness. “I can’t _do_ anything if I can’t _do anything_.” His face is cast in a harsh glow from the antique bedside lamp, the only illumination in the room. 

Bucky knows he means _make things happen_. “Steve,” he tries to stay composed. “These people love you not because of what you can do for them, but because they _care_ about you. They loved you when you were swinging a bat around the neighborhood, and they love you now that you do everything you can to take care of them.” 

Steve audibly swallows, refusing to look at Bucky.

“And for the record, you’ve _always_ done all you can regardless of your body’s limitations. Everyone knows that. Except, apparently, you.” Bucky’s so twisted up inside he doesn’t know who he wants to take out his anger at. He flops down on the bed and turns away, pulling the covers up to his shoulders. He’d leave and blow off some steam, but Steve might need him for help to go to the bathroom or get some water, and Bucky loves this goddamn infuriating man too much to abandon him.

He’s already dead to the world by the time Steve tentatively reaches out for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’ve got things floating around in that head of yours, please do share! 
> 
> The next chapter will be up in a week probably, so expect that soon.
> 
> Seriously, December 2020? Who are you?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> muddling through.
> 
> Meraki_Moli is back as beta reader to save us.

The cast is off, and Steve masters using crutches in no time as his ribs have fully healed. He can hobble from place to place pretty well, and Bucky has to admit that it’s pretty adorable to watch. The best part, though, is that it helps with his mental state immensely. 

There are less depressive episodes, but he’s still on a short fuse every now and then. Bucky tells him point blank that he’s being an asshole when it happens, and simultaneously makes sure to give him enough kisses. He can chew out whoever else he wants, but Bucky’s not going to let Steve snap at him for no good reason. 

He does his best to be supportive, and to not enable any inadvisable behavior like _staying on your feet for hours at a time, for fuck’s sake, Steve_. Which is why he’s helping cook their usual feast for Hanukkah and Christmas in advance, while the man perches on a stool and preps ingredients. 

Well, Bucky’s lending a hand. Dani is doing most of the work, since Steve looked low key alarmed at his suggestion of taking over the kitchen this year. Bucky’s not awful at cooking, he just doesn’t possess the unbelievable skill and instincts Steve and Dani have when putting together a meal.

“You need red wine for that one,” Steve tells him, between stealing bits of cheese from the pile meant for cooking. Dani has to slap away his hand every two minutes. 

Bucky grabs the last bottle, and hands it over to Sam to uncork. It’s actually kind of nice to have everyone cooking together - silver linings and whatnot. “I’ll tell Becs and Clara to get more while they’re out.” He narrows his eyes at Steve’s sneaky fingers, and pointedly adds, “And more cheese.” He texts Becca and immediately gets a reply, in the form of a picture of Clara crouching low in the wine aisle of the grocery store. 

Alice isn’t getting in from Boston until the next day, but Becca’s been helping get things ready since Steve’s restrained to the couch. Or at least he should be, the stubborn fool. 

The doorbell rings, and it’s almost comical how everyone stops dead in their tracks. Bucky thinks it’s funny that the doorbell has become their alarm for unexpected visitors. It’s less funny now, though, as Sam pulls out his gun and creeps towards the door. Even Dani’s got a knife handy and Bucky knows there’s heavier firearm in reach. Steve’s injury is common knowledge. Clara especially has been on edge about security.

Maybe he should also start stashing bats around the house like they do other weapons. It’d be easier to learn how to shoot, sure, but there’s something satisfying about brandishing a giant piece of wood. Bucky internally laughs at the innuendo. 

They can hear Sam curse from the entryway, and suddenly all Bucky can think about is getting Steve the fuck out of there. His brain doesn’t seem to register that even without full mobility, Steve can do some real damage. His little fantasy is quickly squashed when Sam calls out, “It’s your fucking teammates, Steve!”

Steve looks the most taken aback out of all of them. It’s not that they don’t _know_ where he lives, it’s just a boundary none of them’s crossed - and one he probably wishes they still hadn’t. Bucky goes to join Sam by the security screen, and sees Bruce and Clint on their doorstep bundled up in thick coats and scarves. 

Bucky has to think fast. He’s going to have to turn them away as gracefully as possible, but some part of him knows it’s going to be a hard sell. He reaches for the door, but Sam steps in and motions for Bucky to stay behind. Looks like Clara’s warnings have gotten through. He suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. 

Sam opens the door a sliver, and peers around to check the surrounding area. “Uh, hi?” Bruce awkwardly greets him. He follows Sam’s lines of sight and looks around the empty street. “It’s nice to see you again. Sam, right?” His smile is uncertain, but at least the poor guy tries. 

“What are you doing here?” Sam asks gruffly. 

Clint lifts up a fruit basket, adorned with inexpertly arranged plants and flowers. “We brought get well soon care packages,” he grins brightly, undeterred by Sam’s less than pleasant welcome. 

Bucky wrestles Sam away from the door, and motions for him to put away the gun. He only reluctantly does so, eyeing the two men out front with distrust as Bucky stands in the half open doorway. What does he think these world renown operatives are going to do? Take a hit out on Steve? Honestly Sam’s so dramatic, no wonder he and Steve are best friends.

“Hi, guys, you didn’t have to hand deliver these yourself,” Bucky takes Clint’s basket and heaves it over to Sam, who scowls at the clear order.

Sam retreats into the house to put away the basket and is back in a flash, only for Bucky to hand him the parcel Bruce brought with him. “We wanted to see how Steve’s doing,” Bruce stuffs gloved hands deep into his pockets.

“Steve’s doing great,” Bucky leans on the doorway, making a point of staying at the threshold. “He’s made fast friends with those crutches.” They last saw Bruce when they came in to get the cast off, and had only bought the crutches after.

A long pause takes up the air, and Clint’s eyes flick back and forth between Bucky and Sam behind him. The guy’s opted to stay and hold onto the care package, unmoving from his spot. “Is he here?”

“He’s asleep right now, he still gets worn out real quick,” Bucky lies. Sam makes the smallest of sounds behind him, and Bucky sees why right away. Clara’s car comes down the street, and pulls into their driveway in the next two seconds. 

Becca gets out and makes her way to the trunk gingerly, not sure what to make of the two people hanging around outside. Clara, on the other hand, is clearly on high alert. As soon as she sets foot on the snow covered ground, Bucky can tell her right hand isn’t in sight for a reason. These guys need to fucking chill, they don’t need a bloodbath over Steve’s co-workers delivering thoughtful gifts.

Bucky scrambles to think of how to let Clara know to stand down, but Sam gets there before he does. He whistles, quick and sharp, catching Clara’s eye, and asks, “You guys need help with the groceries?”

“Sure, we’ve got tons,” she accepts nonchalantly. Her body remains coiled tight to jump into action, the bulky sweater looking ominous with the possibility of a concealed arsenal. Sam finally puts away the parcel and returns with Dani in tow. Between the four of them, they only need one trip to bring everything in. 

“Hey, Becca!” Clint greets the brunette, who recognizes him once she mentally peels away the layers of scarves and colorful stacked beanies wrapped around the man. 

Becca shoves her load of groceries into Bucky’s arms carelessly. “Clint! How are you?” She gives him a warm hug, friendly even after only meeting him once over milkshakes. “Happy holidays! Are you staying in town for the end of the year?” Becca’s even better at small talk than Bucky. He just hopes she remembers not to let anyone into Steve’s house _or_ arouse suspicion. 

“Yeah, New York’s been home for a while, so the city’s where I spend the holidays.” Bucky hands off the groceries to Sam, who grumbles at being tasked with putting things away yet again. “This is Bruce, he works with us. Bruce, this is Bucky’s sister Becca.”

They exchange handshakes at once, Bruce cordial as always. “It’s nice to meet you. I can see the family resemblance.” Bucky really does like him, he’s sweet. Not to mention the wide array of things he’s learned from his book exchanges with Steve, which has expanded into other avenues outside of art. Sure, Bucky only reads the blurbs and sometimes a page or two, but it’s better than _nothing_.

“Steve’s still asleep, Becs,” Bucky tells her. “You wanna finish lunch before he wakes up and tries to take over the kitchen?” He crosses his fingers that Becca takes the cue to head inside, or maybe by some miracle, trigger the end of this whole encounter.

“Yeah, I better.” She turns to their guests. “Steve’s awful at sharing counter space. I should defend my territory before he’s up. It was nice to meet you, Bruce.” She hugs Clint one more time. “See you around, Clint.”

Unfortunately, neither men take the hint to leave. Or, rather, they ignore it and choose the chance to freeze to death on their doorstep instead of giving in and letting this go. Even Bucky’s getting cold, having to rub his hands together to warm them up. “So,” Clint rocks back on his heels. “You’re having a lot of people over?” Well _that’s_ as transparent as you can get.

“Just trying to help out while Steve’s getting better,” Bucky shrugs. “We basically have to chain him to the bed to keep him off his feet.” He watches Bruce keep a wary eye on Sam, standing all but at attention at his elbow. Are they ever going to leave? Subtlety is pretty much out the window at this point - there’s no acceptable reason for Bucky not to at least invite them in for a cup of coffee when he’s starting to shiver himself. He’ll settle for just getting them the fuck out of there.

“It’s funny,” Bruce says, not looking even a little bit cold in his head to toe winter getup. Bucky’s starting to like him less out of his sheer jealousy for excellent cold weather apparel. “I don’t think we’ve seen Steve’s place before.” He cranes his neck to get a peek, but the entryway is just long enough that you can’t see around the corner.

Bucky feigns surprise. “Really?” He huffs a laugh. “He’s always fixing up one thing or another, he never thinks it’s ready for guests. Persnickety, is what he is.” Persnickety? What the fuck? This is getting away from him.

Steve must have had enough of the charade, because he comes shuffling to the door on his crutches. His hair is mussed, eyes heavy lidded, and there are even faint creases on his face. How could he have possibly done that? Bucky’s impressed.

“Hey, Becca said you guys were here,” he croaks, voice heavy with sleep. “I saw the care packages, thank you.” Steve should win a fucking Oscar. If those Captain America propaganda movies had better writers they could have had a cinematic masterpiece on their hands.

“It’s nice to see you up and about, Steve,” Bruce perks up at the sight of his friend. “We wanted to check in and visit.” Clint nods along, not as carefree as he usually is, but then again neither of them are. Bucky’s pleased to see that they at least really are happy Steve’s on the mend, aside from ignoring social etiquettes like leaving when clearly unwanted.

“Ah, you caught us at a bad time,” Steve looks sincerely apologetic. It would’ve been believable too, if Bucky hadn’t been basically barring the entryway for the past who knows how many minutes. “We gotta go pick up Bucky’s youngest sister soon. She’s coming in from Boston.”

Why didn’t Bucky think of that? Make up fake plans. He thought he was better at lying than this. “Oh.” Clint looks unconvinced, but there’s not much to say other than outright calling them out on the lie. “I guess we’ll see you next time?”

“I’ll come in when I’m all better,” Steve promises. “See you next year, have a great New Year’s.” Just like that, they say their goodbyes and lock up, leaving Bruce and Clint at a bit of a loss on the other side of the closed door, but at least they’re _on the other side of the closed door_. “Motherfucker.” 

Motherfucker is right. 

They return to a much more solemn kitchen, Dani busying himself with cooking and everyone else putting away groceries. They shared a lot of the food sent over with various people from the Roshars, and it’s now only taking up a quarter of the fridge. The powers of the hungry Brooklyn Irish are unrivaled.

“It was nice of them to bring you care packages,” Bucky comments, as they get to the table.

Steve grunts, face twisted up in a glower. “Sure,” he says sarcastically, “ _Real nice_.” The crutches are abandoned as he drops down onto a stool, lifting his foot up on another to keep it elevated.

Bucky turns to face him, unable to bite his tongue. “You know, Steve, it is not the _worst_ idea to cultivate a positive relationship with the people you work with.” He tries to sound unbothered, but his words come out tinged with bitterness.

Steve almost looks aggrieved at the suggestion. “What?”

“You fight god knows what alongside these people,” he waves a hand vaguely in the air. “They’re the ones watching your back out there. You don’t think they should think of you as a _human person_ and not this indestructible goddamn _character_?!” Bucky’s voice has increasingly gotten louder, and he can’t hold back the restrained anger. He didn’t even know he was so upset about this, but he’s never felt so strongly about humanizing Steve to his teammates, as he did watching the love of his life look half dead in a hospital bed.

“It ain’t _my_ fault they see jack shit past the image made outta me while I was _dead_ ,” Steve hisses. “And I fought with countless guys I barely knew. Didn’t even know their first names half the time, and it ain’t like we exchanged friendship bracelets in the goddamn war.” He turns to Sam, asking, “Were _you_ best friends with everyone in your unit?”

Sam raises his hands in surrender, unwilling to volunteer anything on his short stint in the army. “I am not getting in the middle of this.” Everyone else seems to be keeping their heads down, staying out of the line of fire. 

“You are not in the fucking trenches anymore, Steve,” Bucky points out. “And you and I both know you can easily be more than Captain America in their eyes. You _choose_ not to do that.” He grabs a plate of nachos porch kid brought over yesterday. To hell with everyone else who wants cheesy meaty deliciousness to snack on. “ _You_ let yourself hide behind _Captain Rogers_.” The moniker’s never tasted so sour in his mouth. “I’m going upstairs, don’t even _think_ about following me.”

Steve doesn’t.

◆

Becca finds him in his office after dinnertime, holding a tray laden with ribs and potatoes. Who brought them barbecue? “Got you food,” she says by way of hello, and places the tray on the coffee table, lowering herself into the dark patterned rug. 

Bucky closes his laptop where he’s been finishing up some work. By work, he of course means replying to Captain America emails to tell people to _fuck off his name is Steve Rogers and he doesn’t want to be in your magazine,_ because it’s a surprisingly great way to cool off.

“Hmm, who’s this one from?” He joins her, leaning back against the couch and taking a mouth watering piece in hand. The meat is so tender it falls off the bone easily, without falling apart the moment he touches it. It’s buttery soft, and the flavor comes from both the sauce and the meat itself. “Holy shit, this is amazing.”

Becca grabs her own share and starts pulling off pieces with her fingers. “I think Clara said it’s Mrs. Zairik’s cooking?” Ah, that makes sense. She has a great barbecue place up in the Bronx, having been forced to close up shop nearby when a developer bought out her landlord and hiked up the rent. After a few minutes of silently enjoying their meal, Becca finally asks, “You okay?”

Bucky shrugs. “I guess.” He wipes his fingers on some paper towels and reaches for the iced tea Becca’s so graciously brought up too. It’s so sweet his teeth hum with each sip. It’s perfect. “Steve can be so stubborn sometimes.” Bucky rolls his eyes at himself. “Always, really.”

“I know you’re just scared for him.” Becca bumps their shoulders, hands still slathered in sauce. “I was terrified when you told me he got hurt, I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you.” 

Bucky blinks away rapidly swelling tears. Steve himself had held him through moments when his thoughts spiraled into darker alternatives of what could have happened, but the fear doesn’t easily go away. “What if they’d be better about saving him, if they knew him a little better? Wouldn’t you want to save your friend instead of a passing acquaintance?”

“Sure,” Becca acknowledges. “Steve isn’t exactly a passing acquaintance, but I get your point.” Bucky shoots her a look, because that’s so not what she should focus on. She ignores it, slathering a thick cut of broccoli in sauce. “I also think that’s not really how these things work.”

Bucky knows that, sort of. “Yeah, okay,” he mutters. “I’ve just been-,” he gestures uncomprehendingly with a half eaten piece of charred rib. He takes a deep calming breath. “Sometimes Steve says things and I don’t know if he can hear himself.” He shakes his head, thinking back to how rocky the past few weeks have been for Steve. 

The guy might be the one going through an emotional upheaval, but Bucky’s been reckoning with feeling hopeless to help. He just wants to make Steve feel better, and there’s not much he can do. Maybe that’s a fraction of how powerless Steve feels the past few weeks.

“Are you guys doing okay?” Becca hesitantly asks.

Bucky props his chip up on the heel of his palm, turning to face his sister. “Yeah, Becs.” He watches a flicker of conflicting emotions on her face. “I love him, even when he’s being, well, _Steve_. We’ve been arguing, kind of.”

“Arguing’s not always bad, right? And you still love him.” She sounds almost nervous, every bit the young 25 year old holding out for _someone_ to confirm that yes, of course, true love _is_ real, don’t you go worrying about it. It’s times like these that he sees the little sister he grew up with, looking up to him even when he fucks up. 

Even though they’re only a year apart, Bucky had made sure a lot of the burden fell on him when it became just him and his siblings, shielding Becca from the worst of things. Bucky may have been disillusioned to a lot of things early in life, but Becca’s still got a little of that big brother hero worship that sometimes shines through.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Bucky tells her honestly. “It can suck, but it’s not bad.” 

Becca finishes up with her food, and jumps onto her feet. “Great, I think you should stop hiding and talk to Steve.” She starts packing up everything, even the small bit of food left Bucky was still working on. He makes a noise of protest, but is completely brushed aside. “Everyone’s already left, so I’ll leave you two alone.”

“Becca,” Bucky groans. He means to go downstairs eventually, he’s not _hiding_.

“Come on, chop chop.” Bucky refuses to get up. “Ugh, fine. Well, I’m leaving anyway, so I’ll see you tomorrow with Alice.” She’s gone in no time at all, taking away the food and leaving him with nothing but leftover nachos. Were those ribs supposed to be a bribe?

He goes back to his laptop and messes around for a while, and has to admit that there’s not much left to do and it’s getting late. He’s starting to get worried that Steve might need something, now that the guys have reportedly left, when he hears a loud crash. 

Bucky scrambles out of his office and down the stairs, finding Steve on the kitchen floor with a smashed ceramic plate and spilled water everywhere. “Are you okay?!” He takes in the crutches that have slid across the room, out of reach, and goes to help Steve up.

“Wait, don’t!” Steve holds up a hand. “Put on some shoes, Buck, you’re gonna hurt your feet.” Bucky’s a little panic stricken and just wants to get Steve away from the mess, but he does as told. 

Feet protected, he cleans up the puddle first so that they can get around without slipping. Then he grabs the fallen crutches and hands them over, but tells his boyfriend to stay still. “Let me just get rid of all the shards first.”

“No, wait, I can do that-” Steve reaches up towards the countertop, and Bucky grabs his arm to stop him.

“Steve, I swear to god, just stay where you are.” Bucky can see in the corner of his eye Steve slump further into his sprawl, looking dejected as ever. “I just don’t want you to cut your feet on these either.” He cleans up quickly, sweeps the floor, then finally helps Steve up. “Are you okay? What happened?” He looks him over, making sure there aren’t any new bruises or old ones flaring up. 

“Yeah, I was just washing the dishes,” he hobbles back to the sink, maneuvering around haltingly, but cleaning everything just fine. Bucky itches to take over and help but maybe that’s not what Steve needs right now. 

He takes a seat at the table, before remembering the plate he left in his office. He goes upstairs to grab it, and comes back to Steve hunched over the sink. Bucky rushes over, running his hand across the side where his ribs were broken. “What is it? Are you okay?” 

Steve startles, looking at him and then down at the plate caked with remnants of cheese and jalapeños. “Oh.” He takes the dirty dish and starts washing it, mumbling, “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

Bucky sighs, stepping away. “Steve, I-” He can see broad shoulders tense up, and pushes on. “I didn’t mean tell them anything about the Roshars. You know that right?” Steve nods, but stays silent. “All I want is for you to be safe.” 

“You want me to be friends with them,” Steve says into the inches of soapy water.

“No, Steve. I want them to see someone who has a life he needs to come home to when they see Captain Rogers.” Bucky turns away, heading for the bedroom. “Don’t forget to take your pills.”

Bucky’s already out like a light when Steve crawls into bed, and he faintly registers a kiss on his cheek before the bedside lamp shuts off and he goes back to a dreamless sleep. It doesn’t last for long. He gets woken up by scratchy kisses and Steve tripping over his own words. 

It takes him a minute to fully wake up and actually catch what he’s saying, a litany of, “I’m sorry, Buck. God, honey, I’m so sorry. I’ll get better. Been such an asshole, but I’ll be better soon, please don’t leave me. I’m sorry, please don’t go-“

“Steve,” Bucky holds onto damp cheeks to keep him still, doing his best to calm him down by stroking the patch of skin. “Steve, I’m not going anywhere, it’s alright.”

“I’m sorry, Buck, please don’t leave.” Bucky reaches around and turns on the lamp by his side, casting Steve’s splotchy face and red eyes in a warm glow. The dim light catches on a few tears, and the sight makes his heart clench torturously.

He wipes away what he can, coming in close so Steve can’t miss a word he says. “Listen to me, I love you, and I’m staying right here.” Steve had been close to frantic, but he’s now at least wound down to hiccups and sniffles once he can bury his head in the crook of Bucky’s neck. The guy’s been so up and down lately, he honestly can’t tell what brought this on. He doesn’t think it’s solely because of the fight from earlier today. 

“I’m gonna be better soon.” His deep, usually syrupy sweet voice reverberates waveringly across Bucky’s skin. “I’m- I’m almost better.” The distress in Steve’s voice is plain as day, and it’s echoed in Bucky’s own chest.

He tries to pull Steve back so he can look him in the eye, but the older man clings on tighter at the attempt. Bucky settles for talking close into his ear, lips brushing against dark blonde strands of hair. “I love you just like this, Steve. I’m here when your body gets hurt, I’m here when your head gets hurt, and there is _nothing_ you need to do to _keep me_.” He lets it sink in, enveloping Steve’s larger body with his own, holding tight and heavy the way he likes it. “Do you understand?”

“I’ve been- I’ve been-”

Bucky tries once more to get Steve to come out from his hiding spot. “You’ve been hurting.” He succeeds marginally and gets to press his lips against Steve’s forehead. “And that’s alright. You’re gonna be just fine. We both are.” 

“You want me to be better at-,” he hiccups. “At some things like-”

“No,” Bucky gets his fingers on the underside of Steve’s jaw, gently but firmly exerting pressure so he gets to look into those stormy blues. “I’m sorry, too, okay? I know that it’s-”

Steve furrows his brows, chin jutted out in an incredibly familiar gesture. “This ain’t on you, Buck.”

“ _Listen_ ,” Bucky presses his lips to Steve’s for half a second to placate him, then places another peck onto his chin. “It’s not all that simple. Everything can’t just be in neat little boxes, and nothing has a perfect solution.” He swallows, hoping any of this makes sense and that Steve doesn’t misunderstand him. “You’re doing your best for everybody. I just want you to do the same for yourself.”

“I used to be worse,” Steve grumbles, his obstinate nature coming through.

Bucky rolls his eyes, drawling out, “Well, if _that’s_ our measuring stick.” Steve pinches him in the side, and goes back to cuddling Bucky’s chest. He resumes caressing miles of Steve’s muscular back beneath his fingers, all the way up into his hair. “Hey, I don’t want you to ever think I’m gonna leave. That’s never gonna happen, okay?” 

Steve takes a long moment before mouthing into the bare skin of his collarbone, where he’s stretched out the neck of Bucky’s top, “You can’t say never, you don’t know that.” 

Bucky wraps his arms tight across Steve’s shoulders, breathing in the clean, pine forest smell of his hair. “I’m saying never.”

He can feel Steve’s fingers dig almost painfully into his torso. “Okay.”

They stay wrapped up in each other until dawn, the winter sunrise coming over them both like absolution. Sleep overtakes the two men in between trading sleepy kisses, mouths still touching and slack, as they drift off together while the rest of the world wakes up.

◆

Alice brought a boy.

Really, she brought a man. Watching her walk across the station with a rugged looking guy is like a punch to the gut. She’s had relationships before, of course. Bucky helped her get ready for her first date, gave her the sex talk himself, and he’s never made her feel like dating is something to hide.

There’s just something about her dating _as an adult_ that makes his gut churn. He uses the excuse of propping Steve up on his cane to dig claws into unyielding biceps. Steve barely cringes. He can assume Alice didn’t tell Becca either about the addition to their little party, based on the muttered, “What the fuck?” coming from behind her toothy smile. 

Regardless of the shock, Bucky throws himself at his sister as soon as she clears the crowd between them. She’s been living in Boston for three years now and he’s still not used to having her so far away. “For fuck’s sake, I was home like two months ago,” Alice complains as Bucky does his best to crush her in his hold.

Bucky pulls back, but doesn’t let go. “And? Two months is long enough.” Alice squirms out his arms, only to find herself in Becca’s in the next second. She’s soon let go after a lot of lovingly exchanged insults.

Alice gets to Steve and pulls him into a careful hug, face creased with worry. “Still stuck with the cane, huh?”

Steve gives a wry smile. “Just switched to it, actually. It was full time crutches just yesterday.” 

Alice grimaces in sympathy. “Yikes. Well, at least that’s progress.” She finally pulls her friend by the arm to join their group. “Everybody, this is Peter. Peter, this is my sister Becca and brother Bucky, and that’s his boyfriend.”

“Great to meet you guys, Alice talks about her family all the time,” Peter gives a charming grin. Too charming, if you asked Bucky, but maybe he isn’t the most objective party. When no one says anything, Steve not so subtly elbows him. 

“Ah yes, Peter. We, um, well Alice didn’t really tell us about you so I can’t exactly say the same.” He watches Peter’s eyes widen the slightest bit and slide sideways to peek at Alice, who is full on glaring at him. Bucky is unimpressed. “Alice, can we talk for a second?” 

Without waiting for a response, he herds Alice far enough away to get out of earshot, Becca following along. They leave Steve to make small talk with Peter, but he’s not worried. The man can handle himself. “Bucky, that was so rude!” Alice hisses.

Becca quickly jumps in. “I cannot believe you brought someone home and didn’t bother to tell us! How come we’ve never heard of him?!” 

“We’ve only been together for three months. I figured you can meet him now.” Alice crosses her arms defensively, and Bucky has a visceral flashback to dealing with her 14 year old self.

“Three months?” Bucky says in disbelief, trying to cover up the hurt that comes with knowing his sister has been keeping something from him. “We saw you in October! Alice, you know you never have to lie about things like this with me. I’m not gonna be shitty about any of your partners.”

“As proven by that very smooth introduction we just had?” Alice raises her eyebrow in a perfect imitation of her older siblings. At Bucky’s glower, she starts shifting on her feet, looking a little guilty. “We’d only gone out a couple times by then. I don’t tell you about every single date I go on.” 

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to get his head on straight. Okay, so there’s one additional guest to their holiday festivities. That’s not so bad, right? The turmoil of the past month has made this more of a bombshell than it probably should be. 

“Wait, is he staying with us at my place?” Becca asks.

Alice scrunches her nose, another Barnes family trait. “What? No. His family lives in New York. I just invited him to Hanukkah. He’ll be with his family for Christmas and Christmas Eve, but I thought you guys can get to know him the rest of the time.” 

Bucky holds up his hands. “Whoa, hold on. Hanukkah? At my place? Alice, he can’t come to my place.” 

Alice groans. “Why no- Oh. Shit. Oh god, Bucky, I completely forgot! Shitshitshit.” Bucky takes another calming deep breath. As much of a curveball Alice bringing a boyfriend with her is, it’s kind of nice to help her with the nitty gritty of her life much like he used to do when she was younger. He’d tell her to simply uninvite him - it’s not like he’ll be stranded, he’s got family here too - but Alice quietly murmurs, “I really like him, I was excited to have you guys spend time together.” 

Bucky and Becca exchange glances, knowing they can never say no to their baby sister. With telltale wooden clicks, Steve shuffles into their little huddle. “Um, sorry, I can’t help but overhear,” he says sheepishly, like enhanced hearing is something he can help and has to apologize for. “I don’t want to mess up your plans, you guys should have Hanukkah without me, it’s really okay.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, exasperated but fond, “Shut the fuck up, Steve.” 

Alice, however, perks up. “That’s perfect!”

Bucky can’t believe what he’s hearing. “ _Alice._ ” He knows he’s radiating some real parental disappointment and anger. “We are _not_ having Hanukkah without my partner of two years so you can hang out with your new boyfriend!”

She waves away his reprimand, ratcheting up Bucky’s fury further. “Pft, that’s not what I meant, of course we can’t do that.” She turns to Steve with her own scowl. “I can’t believe you even suggested that, Steve, shame on you.” Steve opens his mouth and shuts it again with an audible click, at a loss for how he became the bad guy. “Let’s have Hanukkah at Becca’s for a few days, we can all be there,” she suggests. 

Bucky wants to protest, but it’s not like their place is already decorated. With everything that’s happened, they don’t even have a tree for Christmas yet. He and Becca have a silent conversation all in minuscule facial expressions, before sighing defeatedly. “I guess Steve and I can bring the food over.”

Alice jumps up and down like she’s a child again, and brings both of them into tight hugs. It really is kind of like she’s getting excited over a boy. He hasn’t seen her like this since her mid-teens. 

“Thank you!” She goes so far as to peck Steve on the cheek, earning a pleased full blown blush from the blonde. “Okay, come on, we kind of abandoned Peter.” As they make their way back to the awkwardly standing man, Alice turns to him to whisper, “You were always nice to my boyfriends, Bucky. I expect you to be nice to this one too.” 

Bucky tries his best not to let Alice down, even when on their way out, he hears Peter ask, “Al, is your brother really dating Captain America?”

◆

Going without Steve’s dick throughout the weeks he was laid up was some kind of torture. Sure, there were hand jobs and blowjobs, and their box of sex toys have been getting regular use lately as they find creative ways to get off together, but it wasn’t the same. It goes without saying that Bucky had been more concerned with Steve’s overall health to really bemoan not getting pounded six ways to Sunday. His boyfriend almost _died_. He had priorities. 

But with Steve’s ribs all healed up, and his leg well on its way there too, it takes no time at all for Bucky to jump on that dick. It’s not quite make-up sex, but it’s close enough. 

Nothing ever feels the same as being this close to Steve, sitting on his lap and wringing pleasurable moans and stuttering praises as they rock together. Steve may not be able to prop himself up on his knees yet, but he knows full well how much the man loves having Bucky ride him. 

The thought flits through his mind that maybe going without this particular intimate connection was what threw them off as much as it did, but he resents the notion. Maybe they started with something physical, but it’s everything _but_ that aspect of their relationship that pushed them to pursue things further. They’re more than just the friction of their bodies.

He can’t help but crash their lips together at the bubbling tenderness as it ripples through him, devouring Steve’s mouth and cutting him off midway through his usual worshipful flattery. Of course, Steve would protest at the label, unabashedly declaring _just statin’ facts, honey, how am s’posed to hold my tongue with all’a this here_. Fuck, but he loves him. 

Bucky feels the finger tracing his rim breach his entrance, and cries out at the burning bliss, biting into Steve’s shoulder. With the other hand fisting his drooling cock, the new sensation pushes him over the edge, whiting out his mind in the best orgasm he’s had in a while. 

He doesn’t even realize the presence of a dull ringing in his ears until it tapers off and is replaced by Steve’s subsiding groans, as he comes down from his own climax. While Steve tries to unmelt his own brain, Bucky gathers enough energy to place lazy kisses across his neck and jaw, whispering, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” until he gets a silencing tender kiss in return. 

Steve scoots down the bed and turns them over onto their sides, and Bucky doesn’t miss the restrained wince as he moves. “Did you hurt yourself?” he narrows his eyes. 

Steve tries to hold his gaze, and after a second too long says, “No,” with a valiant attempt at looking innocent. It’s a good effort, too.

Bucky huffs in fondness, kissing the light laugh lines around Steve’s eyes as he overflows with affection for this absolute goof. “We’ll work on that physical therapy again first thing tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve breaks out a beaming grin, surely not thinking he’s convinced Bucky of his denial but pleased that they’re letting it go anyway. Both are relieved at not getting worked up over the smallest things, as had been happening more frequently in the last few days. Steve ducks his head to brush their mouths together in a leisurely kiss, then all over his cheeks and eyelids and nose, before murmuring onto his swollen lips, “Hey, Buck, I love you too. So much I can’t breathe with it sometimes.”

Bucky gives him a peck on the chin. “I know the feeling.”

◆

△

The first time they get to spend time with one Peter Quill, is on the fifth night of Hanukkah.

It’s the day after Christmas, and they spent the past couple days at home celebrating with Becca and Alice, as well as Rita, Maia, and baby Rhea, by way of eating their way through endless food and drinks. Steve can’t get enough of his goddaughter. He wishes Maia and Rhea lived closer, preferably New York or even Brooklyn, but he’d never bring that up. Maia’s built a full life in San Francisco, she wouldn’t take Steve suggesting she move back home well.

So far, dinner with Alice’s boyfriend has gone pretty well. Despite the rocky start at the station, Bucky is welcoming and friendly, as he usually is about any of his siblings’ partners - to their face, anyway. 

The guy showed up decked out in expensive dark wash jeans, artfully disheveled layered t-shirts, and a weathered burgundy leather jacket. The rest of the outfit is a little millionaire hobo chic, but Steve’s honestly not mad at the jacket. He’s not sure Bucky feels the same way.

He’s had to loosen Bucky up with kisses and calming words all day. Bucky’s been so wound up about tonight, not as much at ease as he claims to be about his baby sister having a serious relationship. He would never admit it to Alice, though. Steve knows he doesn’t want to be that kind of shitty brother. 

When Peter unveiled a couple bottles of kosher wine he brought, proudly wishing them, “Hanukkah Samaech!” Steve thought that’d earn him points for sure, even if none of them actually kept kosher. But then Becca and Bucky exchanged a _look_ , which Steve eventually figured out was over the fact that he’d brought hundreds of dollars worth of alcohol. You’d think bringing expensive gifts to dinner would put you in the Barnes family’s good books, but apparently it’s not that simple. 

Jesus, were they this hard on _him_ when he first got together with Bucky?

It’s at the tail end of dinner when Peter turns to him and says, “I heard about your injury, Captain. Sorry that happened.” It’s a little jarring for him to hear anyone refer to him as Captain when he isn’t at an Avengers related gathering. None of the Roshars touches on that part of his life, and Becca and Alice are more likely to teasingly call him _Stevie_ as a result of them hearing Bucky use it once as a joke.

It’s a little not so pleasant reminder, and he tries his best to keep the discomfort out of his voice. “Steve is fine.” Peter quickly nods, catching onto the sudden strange air around the rest of the room. “I’m healing okay, thank you.”

Bucky pipes up, “That cane seriously makes it look like I really am dating a hundred year old man, though.” Becca cackles, effectively breaking the tension. Steve guffaws and shoves Bucky in retaliation, pouting up a storm. His cane does _not_ make him look old. “Oh come on,” Bucky sidles back up to him. “I was just kidding, you’re the picture of youth.”

“Yeah, Steve,” Becca makes a show of propping her chin up and settling in to listen. “Not a gray hair in sight. What’s your secret?”

“Shaddup,” Steve grumbles, even as Bucky gives him a placating smack on the cheek. He turns back to their guest and changes the subject. “So how’d you guys meet?”

“Do you remember Drax?” Alice asks in between bites of leftover brisket. “My gymnast friend you guys met on your last visit.” 

Bucky and Becca give simultaneous appreciative hums, and Steve narrows his eyes at his boyfriend. “Let Becca get a shot at the college kid, Buck, you’re taken.” Bucky swats at his chest for calling him out. 

“Well,” Alice ignores her siblings’ interest. Peter looks tickled, smirking at the two older Barneses. “He and Peter play bass for their band. Drax is usually on the drums, though.” Bucky scrunches up his nose, and Steve snorts at the blatant distaste, pressing amused lips against his hairline. At least that means he won’t be losing Bucky to some young college drummer. “Peter went to one of our meets, and Drax introduced us.”

“You’re in a band?” The hint of judgement in Bucky’s voice isn’t lost on anyone, and Alice shoots daggers at him. Steve fits that information with the man sitting across from him, his clothes, his mess of curly blonde hair, the rough glide of his palm when they shook hands. He wonders if it’ll help console Bucky to say that at least now they know he doesn’t have gun calluses. Maybe not.

Peter must get that reaction a lot because he easily says, “We’re called Star-Lord. The plan is to tour the east coast next year. Fingers crossed it works out. It can get tough, but,” he shrugs, “That’s part of the journey, right?” Something about young optimism makes Steve smile, and despite his boyfriend’s doubts, he thinks Peter’s kind of nice. He’s a little rough around the edges, sure, but who isn’t at his age?

“Don’t worry, Peter, he’s just jealous. Bucky used to be in this really shitty band,” Becca reveals. 

Steve’s eyebrows fly up in interest, while a red-faced Bucky protests, “I was like 17!” Becca and Alice delight in their brother’s embarrassment, snickering into their drinks. Bucky crosses his arms petulantly and leans into Steve’s side like he’s searching for protection from further verbal attack. “Besides, I mostly did that to sleep with the drummer,” he mutters. 

Steve looks down at him, wrinkling his brows. “What is this thing with you and drummers?”

Bucky bats away his query, with a nonchalant, “There’s no _thing_ , he just _happened_ to play the drums. Anyway, I wouldn’t suck if I do it _now_.” Steve gives an unconvinced _mm-hmm_. 

“Aw, man, you don’t still play music?” Peter sounds like he was thinking about bonding with his girlfriend’s brother via jam sessions or whatever it is kids call those. God, even in his head Steve sounds so fucking old sometimes. At Bucky’s head shake, he asks, “What do you do?”

“I’m Steve’s PA,” Bucky gestures to the man beside him. A complicated look comes over Peter, mouth gaping open a little, taking in both of them as if in a new light. There’s a million things that look can mean. 

“Oh.” Peter’s eyes flit between the two before shaking himself out of it. “I mean, cool! Yeah, that’s,” he clears his throat, gulping down some water. “Very cool.” 

Bucky’s phone saves Peter from further fumbling, and Steve already knows it’s his cue even as Bucky’s still on the line. “Becca, Alice, I gotta go, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He goes around to peck them on the cheek goodbye, and while Becca knew his plans, Alice takes issue. “I have to head to the house, Alice, we’re doing Hanukkah there, too.” 

“Oh, well, give Rhea a kiss for me,” Alice asks. “You’re not driving, are you?”

Steve pats Peter on the back goodbye, circling back to Bucky and shrugging into his coat. “Nah, I can’t yet. Clara’s picking me up.” He turns to Bucky, giving him a kiss and tasting savory deliciousness. “Bye, honey. Call me if you want someone to drive you home.” He peeks at the half empty second bottle of wine, and adds, “Never mind, I’ll have Leo come by at midnight.” 

“Steve, don’t make him do that, he’s enjoying the holidays too. I’ll be fine.” Bucky fixes his scarf and collar, making sure it’ll keep him warm even if he only has to walk from the front door to the car. 

He scoffs, kissing the corner of Bucky’s mouth. “Leo doesn’t celebrate shit, he’ll be happy to make the drive. It’s not too far anyway, and it’ll be good incentive to keep him sober. He’s got a thing tomorrow.” 

Bucky accepts it with a sigh. “Alright, I’ll see you tonight. Tell everyone I’ll be around tomorrow.” 

“Mm-hmm,” Steve can’t resist tasting Bucky’s lips once more a little longer, before untangling himself from the embrace and saying one last goodbye to everyone, and heading out on mostly steady legs and a wooden cane. All things considered, it’s turning out to be a decent holiday season after all. 

▽

◆

Pepper wanted Steve to make a statement following his full recovery; present a strong Captain Rogers after a well reported severe injury. He refused.

Steve’s made a point of avoiding any PR that isn’t absolutely necessary, and he’s not going to stop now. Bucky had to tell her that they’re going to have to settle for Steve showing his face at the post mission banquet come January, or not see him at all.

Needless to say, they got the little piece of Steve they can and let it go. Everyone’s thrilled he’s up and about like he wasn’t temporarily paralyzed just last month, when they see him at yet another Stark owned grand hall. Steve has to shake even more hands than usual, politely accepting well wishes even though there’s nothing left to heal. 

Like every banquet following an Avengers assisted crisis, a lot of it is held for charity to help the area rebuild and treat any casualties. Steve donates more than he usually does, still grappling with how the mission went down. He’s only told Bucky snippets of the tail end of his involvement, in late night whispers under the shelter of multiple blankets and Bucky’s arms. 

A lot of it’s not pretty, but Bucky was especially horrified at Steve’s stuttered recounting of when he could _feel_ his lung get punctured. It’s not even really that moment, but what comes after, with rapid fluid buildup that felt a little too much like drowning, that was the worst part. Bucky didn’t have to ask or even hear Steve utter the word Valkyrie to read between the lines.

He’s more thankful than ever that Sam insisted on calling Riley in those first weeks out of the hospital. He knew Steve needed it, but he couldn’t imagine how much. Looking at him now, three courses into a five course meal and munching on perfectly cooked veal pleasantly, you’d never know a thing. 

“They come in much bigger sizes, too!” Bruce is telling Steve all about his favorite brand of weighted blankets, a medium sized version of which was part of the care package he dropped off not too long ago. Steve happily added it onto the pile on their bed, and is itching to get more. 

“I think I’ll definitely get one for our couch,” Steve decides. “What do you think, Buck?” Bucky hums an affirmative, picking off giant bits of pepper from his piece of meat. 

“How’d the plants fare after I dropped them off?” Clint asks. His greenhouse has steadily grown more and more beautiful flowers, and he’s always happy to share. Every few weeks he’ll come home from pilates with Clint with a new tiny plant. The ones wrapped around his fruit basket, however, died pretty quickly. 

Bucky would tell him that they got their use anyway, Steve using them as part of a still life painting, but he knows not to talk about ongoing pieces Steve’s still working on. Besides, anything in his studio feels private, and he wouldn’t treat it any other way. 

Tony puts down his glass of ginger ale - a curious choice - and asks, “You guys hung out at Cap’s house?”

“No, we caught them at a bad time,” Bruce calmly tells him, and his voice is all wrong. Even Clint’s face is a mask of something unsettling. Neither Bucky or Steve miss the almost pointed recitation of their excuse. 

The table is quiet for a long few minutes, and Bucky can’t tell if Bruce and Clint are waiting for them to break and say something, or if _everyone’s_ waiting for something to happen. Even Tony’s watching the indecipherable silence unfold without a word, one of the multiple people present who are unaware of what happened during their unexpected visit. 

Steve doesn’t offer anything, a brick wall as always. 

Pepper’s the one to finally say, completely ignoring the inexplicably long pause like it didn’t carry so much weight and unravel things unsaid, “We should have sent something, a nice wine and cheese spread would have been nice while you’re stuck in bed, wouldn’t it?” Her sharp eyes twinkle with something only Steve seems to appreciate, his lips quirked in a barely perceptible smile.

“That would’ve been nice, Pepper. Maybe next time.” Bucky can’t figure those two out to save his life. 

Bruce and Clint don’t bring their visit up again, and they don’t act strangely towards Steve, but there’s a new element in their interactions nonetheless. Steve isn’t bothered in the least. In fact, he seems to melt into the altered dynamic, navigating the fresh terrain with ease. It’s both frightening and a little extraordinary to watch, and Bucky tries to summon enough wit for the careful dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone’s got any thoughts, you’re welcome to tell me all about it.
> 
> **The next installment is completely written, and[ _Keeping It on the Low_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28101048) is up now if you want to go read that!**


End file.
